Perfect Endings: A Conscious Approach to Dying and Death

Preface

The stories contained in this work are true. However, like all stories, they are my interpretations of events, and my characterizations of people are wholly subjective. With the exception of those individuals who wanted to be named, the names and sometimes the gender of all other people in these stories are fictitious. For further anonymity, I have also changed the location where some events took place as well as some details that are unessential to the main points of the stories. And to honor confidentiality, no clinical records were used for the reconstruction of events.

My intention has been to cast each individual portrayed in the highest possible light. Even when commentary takes a more critical turn, my purpose in doing so is not to defame, but to point out behaviors that I think each of us needs to look at more closely. We are all teachers to each other, and the lessons we learn in our interactions—when viewed from a place within ourselves of highest good—provide opportunities for growth and unfoldment of our true potentials.

Introduction

Whoever you are, if you have picked up this book, then it is meant for you. When a book is written, often a publisher will ask, Who is your audience? In this case, the simple fact is that each one of us will have to face what this book is all about: Death. For certain, each of us will face our own death. No doubt, we are friends, lovers, associates, parents, relatives, or children of others who will die. And in the continuum of our human experience, some of you have already stood with another in the presence of death, or will eventually. Such things are truths we cannot escape.

To say that such truths are morbid is to already pass judgment on, and create a definite bias toward, something that is every bit a part of our life as birth and every experience we face throughout the span of our lifetime. On the other hand, the glib statement that death is a part of life sounds too philosophical and smug—especially to those who have witnessed dying and death in an intimate way. And let me say from the onset that no matter how philosophically detached or emotionally armored one may be, the experience of death, be it our own or that of another, is very intimate.

Death is an objective truth in life. But relatively speaking, when we experience our own mortality or stand witness to another’s passing, the immensity of what we learn and go through becomes the greatest test of our own appreciation for life itself. It is, for this lifetime, our final teacher, lesson, and expression in the life we have lived. In death we experience our finest hour. Why? Because it is in facing death that everything we have learned about life and every ounce of strength and courage we could possibly summon is spent in departing from everything we have come to know and rely on into an unknown. For even if we have studied great teachings about what comes after the moment our visible, worldly breath ceases, or have had near-death experiences or deep meditative insights, our studies and/or the resourcefulness we have developed are still grounded in and referenced against the human bodymind that we currently inhabit. Once that is gone, how, in truth, will we traverse the unknown waters beyond our last earthly breath?

I say these things as a social worker who has been with individuals and families facing death, as a father who has faced the death of one of his daughters, and as a son who stood witness to the final moments of his father’s long demise. In these final moments, you are not at your weakest. You must learn to know the difference between weakness and vulnerability. No matter whether you are seemingly together or feeling totally out of control, in facing death, you are living in a time where you are bringing to its finest fruition everything your life has been about. You are at your best. That is why, when people have asked me if my job as a hospice social worker is depressing, I can clearly say no. This does not mean that I am unaffected by the grief and full range of emotions that individuals and families face. But if we view the situation of dying and death as rich and full, with all the resourcefulness our human life has offered us this far, then we will more than likely look for and support the strengths of individuals and families to get the most meaning out of a moment that literally begs to have answered questions about the meaning of life.

From reading this book I want you to more fully appreciate that whatever your experience is in relating to dying and death, the ending of life that you are experiencing is perfect in that it is one of the most, if not the most, poignant of the myriad of moments in your life where you bring to it the total accumulation of what your life has been about up to this point. What happens at this time, therefore, is perfect. How could it be otherwise?

Thus, perfect does not imply a value judgment like good or bad. Countless books are available to you to tell you how to prepare for death and, if you are supporting or have supported another while he or she was or is dying, what is useful and helpful in assisting the dying person in dying as peacefully as possible. All of these books have their merit. Indeed, there is always something new we can learn to handle a situation better. But, such knowledge can also imprison you in a view or frame of reference that stultifies your intuition and spontaneity and robs you of the wisdom you get when pushed beyond the limits of your knowledge and previous experience.

In dying and death, more often than not, we do not get what we want. Most of us suffer under the illusion that we are prepared for such moments. But maybe we can’t be there with the dying person as we had planned, or we won’t get to their side in time for any of several reasons. What if they don’t want to or can’t listen to our good advice? Are they even aware of our conditional or unconditional support? In the state they are in, would we even recognize the manner in which they may or may not acknowledge us or our efforts? And for those of you who are actively dying, perhaps you want a peaceful passing and are planning for one, yet your pain is out of control. Is there really any certainty that you will be conscious or unconscious, in torment or at peace? And what of tragedies and sudden deaths, whose causes may be just as real, but not as apparent as those that bring about the physical and mental pain and suffering we see in those whose dying seems more obviously at hand? Is it not possible that there is a labyrinth of causes and conditions at work that we may sense, but more than likely want to discount?

Should we judge any unwanted or unwished-for circumstances as bad or unfortunate? Are the unwanted experiences and assorted difficult or confusing feelings any less perfect than the hermetically perfect dying and death scenarios we conjure to protect us from facing this critical, life-bristling moment in a raw and honest way? Should we allow our expectations based on preconceptions to create in us a sense of judgment on how we handle these moments? Is this really an appropriate time to use any notion of human judgment at all? And would anyone dare voice the judgment of whatever divine being, force, or presence we have or do not have trust and confidence in? Of course, there are those who do claim to be privy to such divine information. But does their solace or condemnation have anything but momentary benefit or value, be it positive or negative, to our own path of awakening in the stream of our own life?

One of the assumptions I am writing this book with is that not a moment is truly wasted. The Western and Eastern laws of cause and effect, expressed in the Bible with the saying What you sow, so shall you reap, or the laws of karma in Hindu and Buddhist tradition, are fully operational in each and every moment we face. Thus, if you face death with peace, that is perfect. If you face death with fear, this is perfect. If your dying is peaceful, it is perfect. If it is laden with panic and terror, it is perfect. If you drift off in your sleep, it is perfect. If you stare at the face of death with bloodshot eyes and spewing blood, it is perfect. If you step out of the room while your beloved dies alone, it is perfect. If you miss the flight that would have enabled you to say good-bye, it is perfect. You are not missing anything for not having it be some other way. You are living your own life, learning your own lessons in your own time and way. It cannot be any other way. If it were, it would not be your life—in which case it would not contain in it the rich potential life offers each and every one of us every moment.

I am not trying to romanticize here. And truly and sincerely, I am just as saddened when I am with or hear of people whose deaths were difficult and pain-ridden, and of the suffering of those around them. But for me, it would be intellectually dishonest and arrogant if I were to embrace a model of life that would, in fact, romanticize or fantasize what perfect should be like and how we should face our final moments. For it would be a model based on my own preconceptions or perhaps my limited understanding of a model based on the preconceptions of another, whether secular or spiritual. Granted, there exist models of dying and death that offer ways of dying more positively and consciously and of traversing through the waters of grief. Even from reading this book, you may say to yourself, "Had I only known, I could have done that differently. But in the situation you were in, perhaps choosing differently would not have been any more perfect" than what you did. It just would have been different. If you were to absolutely embrace everything I say about the model I use from my own experience for you, then I would be robbing you of the sheer awe of what is possible in this life, of the magic and freshness of every moment, no matter how seemingly dire. Models have their place; they can help us organize our experience. But they should never become a substitute for trusting our hearts in the moment. A model can never fully convey the multidimensional nature of reality and life and thus can only be used to judge life in accordance with the limitations it imposes on life. To be rigidly bound by a model or view, be it secular or spiritual, would, in its own diabolical way, denigrate our human experience and in all likelihood only contribute to the regret so many already face with the models or lack of models of death and dying we generally encounter in our current society.

Perfect Endings is a series of stories. All of these stories are true insofar as they are perceptions of, and reflections on, situations I was personally involved with. They are stories of pain and beyond pain, hope, fear, and peace. They have moments of torment, spiritual revelation, and humor. All of them are amazing in their own right, and yet I can assure you that in the moments that they were happening, very few of the events’ participants were cognizant of or could have cared less about the existential power of the situation. For in real-life situations, time and space usually do not provide such a luxury.

My purpose for sharing these moments is to give you, the reader, in whatever situation or predicament you find yourself in facing death, the mental space and spiritual opportunity to become more accepting and at peace with how you have faced, will face, or are facing death. I would like you to feel open enough to suspend your judgment about how you should think, feel, or be around dying and death, to step beyond your preconceptions into what the moment is offering or has offered you. For there are many ways to kill this moment and render its message impotent and its lesson benign: rigid beliefs, oversentimentality, philosophical distancing rather than detachment. All of these rob from the moments of dying and death the